Smile
by DireSphinx
Summary: My earliest memory of her is of her smile. A look into Wander and Mono's first meeting.


It's been a while since I posted anything for SOTC, and I've had half of this story on my computer since last May. I figured I needed to finish it and put it out here for everyone. So, I hope you enjoy!

P.S. I don't own SOTC. If I did, I'd be looking into movie deals. This game would make an amazing movie.

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My earliest memory of her is of her smile.

We were only ten at the time, mere children, but we'd had to endure our own share of misery and heartache. My mother had died in childbirth five years prior with my baby sister, may they rest in peace, and my father never recovered. He closed in upon himself, and only ventured out far enough into the real world to teach me how to fend for my own. Archery, hunting, riding, cooking, cleaning, mending one's clothes. One night, he walked out the door of our home and never came back. But I was nine at the time and had learned not to cry. I carried on like I had for the past four years. No one cared.

She was born without a voice. Oh, at first her parents tried to cover it up, said that she was too tired as a baby, or that she was hardly fussy and very quiet, but by the time she was two, everyone could hear past the lies. And with heavy hearts, the parents were forced to give up their only child to the temple elders. For it is the ones with no voices who keep the best secrets, and the elders have many secrets. Her parents cried for a time, but soon with the arrival of a set of twins, they had not the mind to bemoan their fate. In a few years, they almost forgot they ever had a daughter. The elders preferred it so.

I had never interacted with her, being an outcast in our village. Who cares about a child whose own father left him? But I wasn't so out of the loop that I couldn't recognize her for who she was. The chosen maiden, beloved of all elders, keeper of every secret. A child whose worth lie only in the absence of speech. Sure, I had heard of her, and sometimes even pitied her lot in life, but never had I the chance to interact with said girl. Temple maidens and outcasts don't exactly have many opportunities to socialize.

It was pure coincidence that I'd gone foraging for food that day. I knew that within the southern woodlands behind the temple were some blackberry brambles, and these brambles tended to produce some of the best blackberries I'd ever tasted. Mother used to take me blackberry picking there before she passed away, and it made me feel glad to do something in her memory. Even if it was just picking blackberries.

I had just collected a fair share, and was turning to go home when I heard this cacophonous din to my right. Swallows and ravens had broken free from their cover, and were fleeing the area. The only reasons they would have to do such a thing were when predators were afoot. Whipping out my dagger, I prepared myself for confrontation. It might be a boar, it might be a fox. It could even mean the arrival of a local villager. Either way, it was best to be prepared. All could be considered dangerous. The villagers more than the rest.

But what appeared before me was neither man nor beast. Stumbling out of the brambles, covered from head to toe in leaves and mud, was none other than the chosen maiden, desperately trying to pull a branch from her raven hair. She wandered in a few steps closer before realizing she had company. Stopping, she looked away from her tangled locks and scoured her surroundings. I hastily hid behind a bush. Why, I'm still not sure. Perhaps I was just scared of confrontation. The villagers that did deign to speak to me weren't exactly bouncing up and down for joy, and maybe I just didn't want to see the same look of resentment in her eyes.

Unfortunately for me, I wasn't exactly subtle in my concealment. The snapping of twigs almost echoed in the quiet of the blackberry brambles. Cursing myself a fool, I froze and prayed to the gods she didn't hear. But the gods never did much care for me. She turned her head in my direction, and cautiously approached.

My mind raced, panicking thoughts of what do I do buzzing in my skull. I could always make a hasty retreat, but that would require me to sacrifice my basket of blackberries. I'd picked a lot of blackberries. There wouldn't be enough on the branches this late in the season for a second heavy load. And I needed to fletch arrows tomorrow in order to hunt the stags whose meat would last me through the winter. I wouldn't have the time to pick another bunch.

But did I really want her to see me? I had made it a point to stay away from the villagers if I could help it, and the temple elders even more so. They were the ones who came too late to help my mother and sister. They were the ones who had refused the last rites to my father. I knew she was not the temple elders, but would she be the same? I don't think I wanted to find out.

I decided to flee. If I ran now and looped back, I could avoid her and take my blackberries home. So I made to run from my hiding spot with all haste. Sadly for me, I had overlooked the tree root by my left foot. Instead of sprinting from the bushes like some wild animal, I crashed through them with all the finesse of a lumbering toddler. My face, and more importantly my nose, slammed into the ground. I jerked back up and started cursing like that huntsman who'd shot his own foot with an arrow two summers ago. He'd had some very creative curses. And with the chance that I'd broken my own nose, I figured some creative cursing was required.

It wasn't until I saw a dirty white hem that I remembered why I'd been running. Cursing every god individually and by name in my mind, I made to stand only to be felled by that tree root a second time. More curse words escaped my mouth. I refused to look up. Perhaps if I didn't try to stand I wouldn't make an even bigger fool of myself. And the ground was very interesting.

But a distinctly purple stained hand waved itself before my eyes. Looking up, I caught a glimpse of charcoal grey eyes and pearl-colored teeth biting onto blackberry-stained lips, the way one would when trying to hold in a laugh. Those charcoal eyes sparkled in merriment, and a heartfelt smile graced those purplish lips. Her hand waved in front of my face to help me up. I grasped her blackberry smudged hand with my own, and felt my lips curve upwards. Perhaps she wasn't like everyone else...

And the rest, as they say, is history.


End file.
